


On Nights Like These

by greedy_dancer



Category: Nate & Jeremiah by Design (TV) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Domestic, Established Relationship, Gay Parents, M/M, Married Life, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer
Summary: “Let’s get this over with so I can go to sleep.”“Ooh, love your dirty talk, babe,” Jer snorts, rolling his eyes, but he goes, wriggling out of his pajama bottoms, kneeling up on the bed and straddling Nate’s thighs.There is absolutely no way Nate can get hard right now, but now he’s decided to do this anyway, somehow that makes it—better, almost. Moments like this, nights like these, it’s the stuff Nate loves about married life that he never even imagined he would. The stuff you’re meant to put up with: obnoxiously busy days, overwhelming children, a husband who wants to fuck when you’re too tired.





	On Nights Like These

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this locked because there is no way they don't have a Google Alert on their names. *Clings to the Fourth Wall.*
> 
> Many thanks to KloKlo for not only introducing me to these two, but also looking this over!

The bed dips, and Nate wakes up with a start.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep. The side of his face aches a little where his glasses dug into his temple, trapped against the pillow.  He’s still dressed; his shoes are still on.

It’s been a long day, is all, zooming between a few of their sites in awful traffic and fielding a dozen different emergencies and then swinging by his office to deal with the latest supplier fuck-up, and then when he’d come home he’d found Jer at the end of his seemingly endless rope, bouncing a screaming Oskar in his arms while Poppy pushed food around her plate the way she did when she didn’t have the slightest intention of eating any of it.

So then instead of doing what he’s been fantasizing about since the first “oh oh” phone-call of the day—changing into his favorite sweats while Jeremiah fixed them both drinks—Nate sat down next to Poppy at the counter, nodding at Jeremiah to take Oskar upstairs, and ignored his own dinner plate in favor of scheming and bargaining and negotiating with his four-year-old.

Finally she deigned to eat five forkfuls of pasta and three of zucchini, and then he shepherded her upstairs—past Oskar’s room where the wailing was subsiding into miserable hiccups—put her straight in her PJs, bath and teeth be damned, and told her a radically abridged version of her bedtime story.

And then, apparently, he came into their bedroom and fell asleep face up, with all the lights on, on top of the covers, fully clothed.  

“Oskar down?” he slurs now, blinking against the light, and Jer nods, shuffling close and slinging an arm across Nate’s middle. He smells good; clean and expensive. How did he have the energy to go through his night-time skincare routine when Nate didn’t even make it back downstairs to eat, never mind get ready for bed? The resilience of youth, he supposes.

“Yeah, he’s finally asleep. I think he’s started teething,” Jeremiah says into Nate’s neck. “Your plate’s in the fridge if you want it.”

“Not hungry, thanks, babe.” He reaches for the light switch by his bedside, dimming the light. Oh, yeah, better. “Teething already, huh? Poor kid. Well, we knew the day would come."

Jeremiah answers with a noise. He’s started nuzzling at the skin under Nate’s ear a little bit, and then he slides his whole body close until he’s touching Nate, chest to feet, his silk pajamas ruffling against Nate’s jeans, and oh, Nate _knows_ this move.

Resilience of youth, indeed.

“Jer, babe, come on,” he starts, because he’s so fucking exhausted he’s pretty sure he couldn’t get it up right now even if they hadn’t sucked each other off in the shower in the morning.

Jeremiah’s slung a leg over his now, hips moving just a little like he doesn’t really know he’s doing it.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything,” he breathes. “You can just, hmm, lie here and let me rub up on you a little.” He sounds adorably like he thinks he’s going Nate a favor.

“Oh, really? Can I?”

“Uh hm,” Jeremiah says, and it’s unclear whether it’s a reply or just a sex noise. He snakes his hand under Nate’s shirt, sliding across the skin of his belly. The rocking of his hips intensifies, becoming purposeful, and Nate admits defeat—there’s nothing he would deny this man, and certainly not something as easy as this.  

“Fine, okay, come on, climb on top,” he says, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt, because for some reason, five years in, the sight of his chest hair still gets Jeremiah off as hard and fast as it did at the beginning. “Let’s get this over with so I can go back to sleep.”

“Ooh, love your dirty talk, babe,” Jer snorts, rolling his eyes, but he goes, wriggling out of his pajama bottoms, kneeling up on the bed and straddling Nate’s thighs.

There is absolutely no way Nate will get hard, but now he’s decided to do this anyway, somehow that makes it—better, almost.

Moments like this, nights like these, it’s the stuff Nate loves about married life that he never even imagined he would; the stuff you’re meant to put up with: obnoxiously busy days, overwhelming children, a husband who wants to fuck when you’re too tired.

But for Nate, there’s something profoundly satisfying about moments like these, where he can feel them both _working_ at it. It makes Nate feel—good, virtuous. Like he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing; like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, with the people he’s supposed to be with.

Taking care of Jeremiah when he’s keyed up, no matter how tired or stressed out Nate is, and knowing that Jeremiah would do the same for him—not that it happens a lot that way; as Jeremiah takes a little too much pleasure in reminding him, he _is_ pushing 50… The fact that they still want to do this for each other, that they still want to acknowledge each other’s desire and needs and take care of them together is yet another piece of evidence that this is _right._

If sometimes ‘right’ means encouraging Jeremiah to jerk off on his chest so Nate can get to his beauty sleep a little sooner, so be it.

Sure enough, Jeremiah’s eyes go straight to Nate’s chest as soon as he pushes his shirt off of his shoulders. He trails a hand over it, following the darker line of hair that runs from Nate’s sternum to his belly-button, before taking himself in hand with a sigh.

His eyes are heavy with sex and his mouth is hanging open, and Nate can see the pink of his tongue, and no one gets to see Jeremiah like this but Nate, and he’s so fucking beautiful it takes Nate's breath away. Still. How fucking lucky is he?

He looks down to where Jer’s hand is moving steadily between his legs already, the head of his cock peeking through his fist on the downstroke, and his belly warms at the sight; not enough for anything to happen, but enough to push him a little more firmly in the direction of ‘awake.’ Maybe he can do more than just lie there, after all.

“Or—and I’m still not moving, fyi, but—if you come up here I’ll suck you off,” he offers, and Jeremiah doesn’t waste any time thinking about it, which is flattering. He shuffle-scrambles gracelessly until his knees are under Nate’s armpits and he’s looming over him, still only naked from the waist down, his dick fat and pink and delicious-looking.

Nate can’t reach it very comfortably, but before he’s had time to mention it, Jeremiah’s twisting around, grabbing his own pillow and sliding it, bunched up, under Nate’s head.

“Why thank you,” Nate says, and then he grabs Jer’s hips and opens his mouth and draws him between his lips.

“God, babe,” Jer sighs. Nate feels him push in just a little bit, and one of Jer’s hands comes to cradle Nate’s skull, stroking over his ear. He puts his other hand on the wall above Nate’s head for balance or maybe support.

Nate hums a little, tightening his lips, moving his tongue on Jeremiah’s dick, around the head and along the shaft, laughing silently when the edge of Jer’s pajama shirt lands across his eyes, blinding him for a second.

He fucking loves sucking dick, and without the pink-hot haze of arousal he can really direct his whole focus to it, his mind going clear and quiet as he concentrates on memorizing the slick smoothness of Jer’s skin, his sharp taste, the increasing jerkiness of his movements, the accelerating rhythm of his breath.

He keeps going until his jaw starts aching a little and the muscles in his neck starts burning, and then he takes a deep breath and grabs Jeremiah’s ass and pulls, pulls, pulls until Jer gets the hint and just goes with him, pushing in as deep as he can get.

Nate’s jaw is stretched wide, his throat full, his eyes tearing up a little and his nose pressed up against Jer’s twitching belly, where his smell is so strong. Jer makes the “ _Uuuungh_ ” sound that means he’s gone, about to really start fucking and chasing his orgasm, and Nate feels the same deep swell of pride as the very first time he rendered him non-verbal, years and years ago now, back when they knew almost nothing about each other except this.

Nate can feel Jeremiah start pulling back but he’s got the control—for once—and he doesn’t want to let it go, he wants to give this to Jer just the way he’s decided. He swallows a couple times around Jer’s dick and at the same time he grips his ass tighter, digging his fingers into the solid flesh, squeezing so it spreads Jer’s cheeks apart in the way that always makes him whine a little, yeah, just like _that_.

Sometimes, when Nate does this, after he’s come in Nate’s mouth Jeremiah will asked to be fucked, and he’s always a little shy about it, like he thinks maybe Nate will say no. As if.

None of that will happen tonight, obviously, but Nate still wants the noise. It’s the kind of super specific noise Jer only ever makes during sex, and that means Nate’s one of the few people on the planet to have ever heard it, and that makes it better, hotter, a million times sexier.

The signs of Jeremiah’s impending orgasm are unmistakable. There’s that noise and the pulsing of his dick, getting impossibly harder, impossibly bigger and wetter in Nate’s mouth; there’s the stuttering of his hips; there’s the tensing of every muscle, the way his hand tightens in Nate’s hair, the sudden clamminess of his skin as he starts sweating.

Nate knows all of the signs by heart, and he welcomes them and revels in them, and when it’s time he draws back just enough that when Jer starts coming he’s able to put a hand on himself and stroke the way he needs to, to make it as good as it can possibly be—and that’s just what he does, twitching and swearing and milking himself into Nate’s waiting mouth.

“Ah, fuuuuck.”

Jeremiah lets out a long, long sigh when he’s done, stroking himself soft and slow a few more times and running his thumb over Nate’s wet lips and chin before he dismounts and flops down against Nate’s side, patting at him uncoordinatedly.

The empty glass on the nightstand gets repurposed as a spittoon, which will be revolting in the morning, but Nate definitely can’t find it in himself to go and spit in the sink right now. He uses the bottle of water next to the glass to rinse out his mouth and spits that out into the glass, too, so they can have a nice goodnight kiss. Jer is weirdly precious about tasting his own come.

“That was really nice, thanks babe.” Jeremiah’s back into his PJs bottoms. If not for the flushed skin on his neck, you’d never guess he was being deep-throated just a minute before. “You’re sure I can’t do anything for you?”

Nate’s surprised to find that his dick actually fattened up a little in his jeans during their proceedings, so he gives it a second’s thought, but in the end it’s not worth doing anything about it. It would be slightly wasted, anyway, with how quickly Jeremiah’s fading. He’s already burrowing into his pillow, eyes closed.  

“Let’s save it for tomorrow,” Nate says. Tomorrow is Saturday, and they’ve got nowhere to be until noon. “If the kids sleep in maybe you can fuck me in the morning.”

“Love the optimism, babe.” It’s little more than a mumble. Nate gives it five seconds until Jer’s out completely, never mind that the lights are still on and the alarm is not set.

God, he never thought he would get to love someone this much again.

“You never know,” he smiles, mostly to himself, and presses a light kiss to Jer’s head. He turns off the light and pads towards his closet in the dark. “Life has a way of surprising you.”

Jeremiah snores.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://greedydancer.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/greedydancer). Come yell with my about how much these two love each other, GOD!


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